


Make it so it doesn't hurt

by jomipay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MarTim rights, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Tim can have a little affection, as a treat, edges into being a little angsty despite the comfort, hurt/comfort smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/jomipay
Summary: They finish their meal and move to the couch. It’s all part of their routine now. They watch something mindless on telly, sometimes it even manages to pull a laugh from them. Tim isn’t great company right now, he knows it. Martin keeps coming anyway. Keeps staying. Tim knows it’s because he needs someone to take care of, that Martin doesn’t know how to function, how to exist just for himself, but he doesn’t care. He’s getting something from this too, he needs something, too. They are sitting close enough together that Tim can feel the heat of Martin’s thigh next to his own. He rakes his eyes over Martin’s skin, over his large form and thinks the rest of him is probably warm too. He wants to feel it, wants to feel bare, warm skin against his own, wants it to seep right through him and warm him to the bones. If Martin needs someone to take care of, Tim’s okay with it being him. Tim wants it to be him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	Make it so it doesn't hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Some sexy MarTim for hurt/comfort week. Vibe heavily influenced by the song "Do Everything Now" by Saint Motel, specifically the ending of that song.

Tim flips the light on the instant he can get his hand on the switch. Martin’s shoes scuff on the wood as he follows closely behind. Martin sets their take away on the counter and it almost smells appetizing. Tim will eat it regardless. He doesn’t feel hungry, but he knows he needs to eat. Martin sets everything out and Tim takes a chair opposite him and they sit there and eat. Martin smiles at him every once in a while, when they both look up and catch each other’s eyes. His blue eyes are teeming with a fondness that settles the roiling mess of Tim’s insides. He eats a bit more, hunger more apparent now. Martin has been around a lot since Prentiss. Tim went home alone that first night, exhausted and out of it enough that it wasn’t so bad. There was no space for the fear, the sense of helplessness to take hold. But the nights after that first have not been so kind.

He’s tried reaching out to Sasha. They’d been closer again recently, but now she’s pulled sharply and decisively away. It had seemed like things were finally going the direction he wanted, like she was resisting just for the fun of it, just to tease him, and inevitably they would fall back together. Well, he’s had stupider ideas, stupider fantasies. Just none that were so poorly timed. The rejection was plenty painful, but when she was the only one he wanted to turn to, the only one he wanted comfort from? Pain worse than any burn, worse than any number of worms burrowing into his skin. She had a new boyfriend now anyway, so clearly she was dealing better than all of them. It’s fine. That was weeks ago now. It hurt less at least. Or maybe he was just numb.

Martin started hovering not long after. Tim wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he was just looking for someone else to take care of because Jon kept spurning him, but he didn’t have the energy. Besides, it felt good to be thought of, and when it came down to it, he was lonely. He figured Martin was probably lonely, too. It was easy to ask him to come home with him that first time. _Come have dinner. You don’t have to go. You can sleep on the couch. Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone._ The confessions just kept tumbling out. He could not stop himself, the first making the next easier and the next after that easier still. The honesty of his words was abrasive—harsh—like the way he scrubs himself raw sometimes in the shower, or when he washes his hands. He’s never clean enough, now.

They finish their meal and move to the couch. It’s all part of their routine now. They watch something mindless on telly, sometimes it even manages to pull a laugh from them. Tim isn’t great company right now, he knows it. Martin keeps coming anyway. Keeps staying. Tim knows it’s because he needs someone to take care of, that Martin doesn’t know how to function, how to exist just for himself, but he doesn’t care. He’s getting something from this too, he needs something, too. They are sitting close enough together that Tim can feel the heat of Martin’s thigh next to his own. He rakes his eyes over Martin’s skin, over his large form and thinks the rest of him is probably warm too. He wants to feel it, wants to feel bare, warm skin against his own, wants it to seep right through him and warm him to the bones. If Martin needs someone to take care of, Tim’s okay with it being him. Tim wants it to be him.

The decision to close the space, to slide his hand over Martin’s thigh, climb into his lap and swallow down the startled gasp he makes, is an easy one. Martin’s mouth is warm against his, Martin’s body is warm, so warm, underneath his and it slips through him as easily as the blood in his veins. Martin’s hands, which had been firmly planted on the couch at his sides, finally move. One of them wraps around Tim’s bicep, the other cups the back of his head. Tim runs one hand over Martin’s soft stomach and sinks the other into his hair. Martin moans softly as Tim grips it near the roots, tugging slightly. The kiss has become a harsh, hungry thing that Martin matches at every point of escalation. Tim opens his mouth, a silent request for Martin to let him, to let him closer, that he is not denied. Martin is stiffening against the inside of one of his thighs, hard and hot, even through the fabric of both of their trousers. Their tongues slide together, and Tim rolls his hips, grinds against Martin and they both groan, pouring it into each other’s mouths.

Tim stops when both of Martin’s palms press flat against his chest and gently push against him. He tears his mouth away, slides his hand out of Martin’s hair and down to a shoulder. Tim glances over Martin for any signs of discomfort. He is suddenly horrified he grossly miscalculated. Martin is panting, lips shining with wetness. His eyes are dilated, the pupils blown so wide they are rimmed only by the thinnest circle of deep ocean blue.

“I’m sorry, we can stop—” Tim blurts out with a desperate need for Martin to understand.

Martin cuts him off by shaking his head. His curls bounce with the motion and Tim’s fingers itch to tangle in them again, make them more of a mess than they already are.

Martin catches his breath. His cheeks are flushed a dark, fetching pink. Tim would very much like to kiss them and feel exactly how heated the skin there is with his lips.

“No, no, I want to. It’s just, are you—” Martin clears his throat, gets some of the hoarseness out of his voice, “Are you sure?”

Tim nods his head eagerly and follows it up with a hissed, “ _Yes._ ”

“I just, I don’t want to,” Martin exhales loudly through his nose, eyes flicking back and forth as he searches for what it is he wants to say. “I don’t want to take, advantage of you.” He looks down as he says it, and Tim smiles.

The sweetness, the care does something to him, makes his heart thump harder in his chest.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Tim assures him.

“I want to if you want to. Do you want to?” Tim asks, because he needs to be absolutely sure, needs to hear Martin say it.

“I want to.” Martin whispers, and his eyes trace the outline of Tim’s lips.

Now that he is certain, Tim rolls his hips again, leans forward and latches his mouth to the base of Martin’s neck and sucks. Martin moans, long and satisfyingly loud. It goes straight to his dick, makes it twitch impatiently in his pants.

“Bed,” Martin chokes out. “Let’s go to bed.”

Tim doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs Martin by the hand, drags him to his bedroom. He let’s go once they’ve got there to yank his shirt over his head. That done, he takes Martin’s face in both hands and drinks greedily from his mouth, savoring the affection, the warmth and tension and _emotion_ pooling in his stomach. They stumble backwards towards the bed. Martin sits and lies back, pulling Tim with him. Tim straddles him, rucks his top up impatiently until Martin sits up enough that he can pull it off. Martin is flushed, the pink reaching down across his chest. Martin is both soft and solid, a quiet strength hidden beneath a layer of soft Tim can feel as he kneads his fingers into his sides across his stomach. They fumble with each other’s belts before just taking their trousers and pants off themselves. Coming back together furtively, with kiss that are open mouthed and wet, hard cocks rubbing against each other with a delicious friction.

“What do you want?” Martin asks, breath hot and electric against his neck.

“Fuck me,” Tim answers immediately.

“ _Please.”_ He adds, because he means it and he is prepared to get down on his knees and _beg for it_.

He doesn’t care how desperate or needy it comes off as, he wants one thing and he will ask for it in no uncertain terms. Martin kisses up his throat, across his jaw, across his cheeks before resting his forehead against Tim’s.

They stay there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, close enough to share breath. Tim tilts his head forward; it only takes the tiniest adjustment to press his lips to Martin’s again.

“Make me feel good. Make it so good I can’t think about anything else.” He murmurs it against Martin’s lips, enjoying the sensation of their lips melded together too much to give it up, even for a second. Not until he’s gotten his fill.

Tim feels Martin’s answering smile against his lips. He chases Martin’s mouth as he pulls away, but he doesn’t have long to mourn the loss because soon there are teeth on his neck, just under the corner of his jaw.

“Tall order,” Martin says, and then he flips them suddenly, with an ease that sends a surge of arousal through Tim strong enough to leave him feeling gutted. “But I think I’ll be able to manage.”

Martin slides down his body, kisses down the hollow of his throat, laves his tongue over his collar bones, each of his nipples, nipping as he goes. Tim has never felt this desperate for it in his entire life. Every contact, every brush of lips, rub of skin, nip of teeth, edges the darkness and numbness out of his mind, and he wants more, wants everything Martin can give him. Martin continues his onslaught until he reaches Tim’s straining and engorged prick. The first touch of Martin’s lips to his sensitive head feels like a brand. He stretches his lips around the head, sucks and swirls with his tongue before he takes him in all the way, easily, in one smooth motion right down to the root. Tim cries out, wanting to live on this knife’s edge of desperation forever, it feels so good. Martin gives him full attention, bobbing his head up and down, pausing to lick over the head, gazing up at him with a look in his eyes that tells Tim he knows exactly what he’s doing. When Tim is properly worked up, thrusting his hips up in needy little circles, Martin pulls off.

He wipes his mouth with one hand, gives Tim a moment to catch his breath before leaning down for a filthy kiss. Tim reaches between them, tries to get a hand around Martin, but Martin stills him.

“Don’t worry about me, just let me take care of you.”

And fuck, yeah, that sounds good to Tim. Tim sucks at Martin’s bottom lips, takes it in between his teeth and nibbles. Martin eventually pulls away and Tim whines.

“Erm, condoms…lube?” Martin asks.

Tim props himself up on an elbow, points to his bedside table. “Top drawer.”

Martin retrieves them and wastes no time popping the cap and drizzling some lubricant over his fingers. Tim has never noticed how thick they are and it makes his mouth water. He circles a finger over his entrance, teasing smiling as Tim pants, before applying a steady, unwavering pressure and sinking it slowly all the way in. Tim sucks in a breath, lets it go with a gasp. He’s willing to bet Martin’s the kind of person with a heavy hand with it comes to endearments. God, he hopes Martin uses endearments, hopes he’ll call him _sweetheart_ , or _darling._

“How does that feel, love?”

_Love_ , fuck, yeah, that’ll do it. He whimpers in response and Martin adds a second finger starts rubbing at his prostate. He waits for Tim’s moans to reach a fever pitch before adding a third. Martin’s fingers are delightfully thick and are giving him the most beautiful aching stretch. He arches his back, wriggles his hips, trying to fuck himself on those fingers.

“Beautiful, so beautiful.” Martin whispers, watching him intently.

Tim shudders and Martin chuckles softly to himself.

“You like that? You like it when people tell you how beautiful you are?”

Tim throws an arm over his face, hiding his blush, and nods frantically.

Martin removes his fingers, leaving Tim empty and aching without them. Tim can hear Martin rip open a condom and roll it on. Martin pulls his arm away, leans down a whispers against his ear.

“Let me see your face, I want to see all the pretty expressions you make as you take me.”

And then he sits up, slicks his cock and lines them up before pushing in with one steady thrust. They both moan. Tim a bit more desperately, but he doesn’t care. He could die here for all he cares. It feels so good. Every second of it feels so fucking good.

“Good, what a _good_ boy.” Martin coos, dragging his hips back and thrusting in again and Tim has quite possibly ascended to another plain of existence. _Yes_ , he is good, he can be so good, stay so good for Martin.

“Please,” Tim cries out. “Please don’t stop.”

Martin moans and quickens his pace. “How could I, when you feel so lovely?”

Tim throws his head back and groans. Martin stills after a while, placing a hand on Tim’s hip, catching his breath. Tim rolls his hips, trying to get Martin deeper.

Martin pulls out and moves to sit back against the wall where the bed meets it.

“Why don’t you come here and fuck yourself exactly as you’d like.”

Tim crawls into his lap, grabbing Martin’s cock and guiding it within himself. He wastes no time, sinking down immediately and impaling himself, lifting himself up and doing it over and over again in a quick and brutal rhythm. Martin grits his teeth and sucks at his neck. There will be marks there tomorrow. Thank God, there will be marks there tomorrow. The new angle brushes his prostate on every deep thrust and Tim knows he isn’t going to last much longer. He doesn’t think Martin will either, if the way he’s clutching at his back is any indication.

“So lovely, such a lovely job you’re doing.” Martin’s voice is earnest, his eyes tender as he watches Tim. Tim drinks it all in, the affection, the praise, the tenderness.

Martin brings a hand between them, wraps it around his leaking prick and strokes.

“Let me see how pretty you are when you come.”

It only takes a few more strokes and then Tim is riding a wave of impossible pleasure, gasping as he comes in thick white strands over Martin’s hand and their stomachs. Tim enjoys the sensitivity, the overstimulation until Martin comes soon after. They part, Martin sliding out of Tim and pulling the condom off, wrapping it in some tissue and setting it aside to be dealt with later. They collapse to the side, sweaty and exhausted, and huddle together.

“How did I do?” Martin asks.

It takes Tim a while to find his voice.

“Think that did the trick.”

Martin hums. “Maybe we should do it again, sometime.”

“Maybe we should.” Tim agrees.

Tim isn’t sure if they will or not, but he does know that this is the best he’s felt in weeks. His body feels alive. He feels seen, cared for. Martin is the first to fall asleep, a short time later. Tim slings an arm over Martin, clutches him tightly, and Martin moves into it in his sleep. Tim reminds himself that this is what it’s like. This what it’s like to feel human, this is what it’s like to want to be alive. If he ever doubts it, this memory, the phantom touches, the ghost of the tenderness in Martin’s eyes, they will be there for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment here or find me on tumblr @[halfofmysoulistrees](https://halfofmysoulistrees.tumblr.com/)


End file.
